


scribble stars on the cuffs of your jeans

by earnmysong



Series: love and understanding, positivity (change this whole world) [the next-gen avengers] [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Kid Fic, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnmysong/pseuds/earnmysong
Summary: Wanda holds her hand out for Morgan to shake. “You must be Morgan Stark. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Morgan stares, not quite sure whether to believe she’s truly been forgotten. “Our secret,” Wanda hurries to promise.// Wanda is new to teaching; Morgan Stark is one of her third-graders, and she is undeniably Tony Stark's daughter.





	scribble stars on the cuffs of your jeans

**Author's Note:**

> There was an interview during _Infinity War_ press where Elizabeth Olsen said, "Yes. [Wanda] could teach eight-year-olds." This is my exploration of what that might look like. I added Morgan Stark to the mix because, in my brain, the timing worked out excellently and my heart ached after _Endgame_. I haven't read any other Morgan Stark stories, so I'm hoping this little nugget is fairly original. FYI: zvezda is Russian for 'star'.
> 
> @megalong/@irishmizzy and @isjustprogress/@andibeth82 both supported this in some fashion, and I couldn't be more grateful! 
> 
> Marvel owns everything it rightfully should, and Baby Shark is definitely not mine. The title comes courtesy of 'If I Could Tell Her' from _Dear Evan Hansen_.

\--- 

Wanda senses someone (multiple someones, in actuality) exiting the elevator down the hall, but her concentration doesn’t waver. There are many classrooms on this floor, each with its own guardian, at least fifteen of whom are as new to teaching as she happens to be. Odds are, the visitors are here for them, to deliver food neglected in favor of extra prep time or a well-meaning pep talk designed to take the edge off of long to-do lists that get longer the more that they are looked at. With the deadline enforced by tomorrow’s open house looming far closer than she cares to think about, she’s not at her calmest. In fact, she most likely won’t be relaxing anytime soon – and it’s only September. 

With her right hand, she block-letters _Brooklyn Zettler_ on a final construction paper parachute for her _DIVING INTO 3RD GRADE TOGETHER!_ door decoration, while her left easily and expertly floats twinkle lights into a frame around the Smartboard. 

A knock hits about halfway down the doorframe a second later, at the same time as a delight-filled shout of, “Wanda! Wanda! Guess what?” streams in. In the next instant, a small body barrels into her from behind and arms circle her waist.

Wanda turns, kneels so that she’s closer to the new arrival’s height. “I know! Do you see anything that you recognize, zvezda?” she asks, moving to tape Brooklyn’s purple parachute into the last remaining empty space and letting her fingers rest on a certain bright yellow copy that includes a familiar name and is the only shape surrounded by several space-related sketches.

“Awesome, Wa – ” Morgan Stark gasps, the end of her joyful outburst lost as Pepper, having caught up with her daughter, puts in: 

“We’ve been having the same talk for three days straight. I figured we should stop by today, beat the crowd, see if what I explained to her stuck. This is not a single-trial study. Obviously.” She laughs. “Remember, honey? At school, Wanda should be – ”

Morgan brings a palm to her forehead regretfully. “Ms. Maximoff.”

With a carefully professional smile that has worked wonders on tiny humans since her days of student teaching, Wanda holds her hand out for Morgan to shake. “You must be Morgan Stark. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Morgan stares, not quite sure whether to believe she’s truly been forgotten. “Our secret,” Wanda hurries to promise, winding a thin cord of power around Morgan’s wrist with a wink. 

“When I told you ‘No favoritism, Wanda’, I really did mean it,” Pepper sighs. “Do I need a study for you, too?”

“Oh!” Now it’s Wanda’s turn to be excited. Noticing the confusion on Pepper’s face, she elaborates, “That would give me excellent practice compiling data in a low-stakes environment.” She shrugs. “Data collection is essential in education.” 

“You’re both hopeless,” Pepper groans affectionately. 

\---

Whatever Wanda’s students wish to share when the spotlight shines on them will be welcomed and applauded every time. That’s the first rule of show-and-tell in Room 202. The only catch? Items must tie to their owners on a personal level, much deeper than Mawadda’s _Can I give a lesson on Nintendo Switches? They cost $300, mine has fifty-five games loaded, and I play it for two hours every day._ (Wanda tells her to let her ideas reach further outside the box, filing those numbers away in her brain in case she finds herself in need of a student-specific word problem in the future.)

In response to Wanda’s preview of the proceedings, most of her students settle in for extensive debates regarding the comparative merits of their belongings. Morgan, however, goes silent. 

“Zvezda.” Wanda crouches next to Morgan’s desk, keeping the nickname low to save it from becoming public knowledge. _No favoritism!_ flashes through her mind in Pepper’s handwriting, as though a binding agreement had been issued. “Do you want to talk?”

“I’m not sad, Ms. Maximoff,” Morgan assures, grinning widely; the requirement for formality between them hasn’t lost its novelty, even after a month. “I have an idea, and I know it’s going to be perfect. Mommy probably won’t let me try, though, because the workshop is off limits." She taps the side of her head twice, a mannerism so reminiscent of Tony that Wanda’s chest tightens momentarily. “This is my thinking face.” She recreates, with perfect accuracy, her earlier expression. “I’m deciding on the most effective way to convince her. Maybe,” she extends the word as her thought forms, “I can just go in, get my supplies, and leave again. She won’t even realize!”

Wanda gets to her feet, ready to gather everyone back together for science. Before she does, though, she bestows a tight embrace and cautions, “Always ask, Morgan.” 

\---

At eight that night, Wanda receives a text from Pepper. Opening the message reveals a photo of Morgan, safety goggles that cover half of her mouth, as well as her eyes, sliding slowly off at an awkward angle. This issue likely stems from their wearer being at the pinnacle of a fairly ecstatic jump when the camera captures her. A note spreads across the center of the image: _Dictated directly from the desk of M. Stark: Your plan worked much better than mine, Wanda! xo_

She responds: _I can’t wait for the big reveal, zvezda!_

Forty-five minutes later, a FaceTime invitation sounds. Wanda accepts on the second ring, and Pepper swims into view. Her _Morgan would like you to witness her creative process_ comes across the connection as a watery whisper which Wanda finds herself straining to understand. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she continues, “I’m having a hard time coping at the moment. I’m pretty spectacular at keeping it together, but this? This is a little much.” In answer to the question playing over Wanda’s features, she pivots her phone. Morgan materializes in the frame, the step stool she’s climbed allowing her access to Tony’s projection table – or, as she prefers, ‘the brainstorm board’. “She decrypted a file.” 

If this accomplishment were the first of its kind, Wanda would be at the Stark residence in the blink of an eye, releasing a one-woman pyrotechnic display worthy of a future Nobel laureate, the likes of which have yet to even be contemplated. She’s reasonably sure, however, that Morgan’s abilities surpassed this particular milestone several years ago. As such, she’s left to speculate at Pepper’s reaction being a byproduct of parallels between her daughter and her husband, that she may have pushed further aside as time passed, reclaiming her attention rather suddenly. 

"One I'd never seen." With Pepper's clarification, Wanda's puzzle transitions into a cohesive picture.

“FRIDAY, upload data stored on October 31st 2018 to the ‘Dynamic Duo’ server. Convert from .mov to .mp3 in processing,” Morgan commands, the fact that she’s in elementary school contrasting with directions usually delivered by those at least several years her senior. 

“Right away, fairy.”

“Daddy included me in one of FRIDAY’s protocol upgrades!” she exclaims. “He must’ve spliced voice recordings together.” Caught up in interpreting her father’s exact methods, she misses her mother’s sharp inhale and renewed flood of tears. “He called me _fairy_ a lot, Wanda. Like King Arthur’s Morgan.”

Reaching a certain point in its transfer, the discovered file begins to loop through again: 

In the video, Tony’s sitting on a bedroom carpet. He’s dressed in a full highlighter-hued fishing ensemble, complete with waders, a hat, and a rain-jacket. “Costume Reveal, Take 27!” he announces grandly. “Yes, that is the actual count, and, no, we didn’t go the fish-stick route. She’s,” reaching out of sight of the lens, he lifts an infant Morgan into the shot with him, “M. Stark, Baby Shark!” Sure enough, the gray onesie she’s wearing has a white oval in the front panel, a felt fin adhered to the back, and Sharpie nostrils drawn on the hood; the red pacifier in her mouth resembles a fish. “FRIDAY! Play the dynamic duo’s October theme, instrumental version.”

“Playing your request now, boss,” the AI informs him. 

Almost immediately, a single-note techno beat, heavy on the bass, fills the room. Rising, Tony dances with Morgan, helping her pink baby Converse touch the floor as they go. The whole way, he inserts lyrics into the music, humming in all the right spots: “Baby Stark, do-do; do-do-do-do…” The song lasts at least two minutes, and they move until it finishes. “God, that’ll make your ears bleed after a while.” He bends, scoops Morgan up. “Gotta say, that rewrite amuses me far more than is probably socially acceptable. And,” he tells her, kissing her cheek and making an exaggerated raspberry noise, “you really couldn’t be any cuter in this getup. We did good, fairy.” She coos happily, waving her tiny fists around in agreement. Chuckling, Tony addresses his invisible audience. “Two-thirds of the family Stark, signing off. Peace.” 

As the recording fades to black, FRIDAY reports, “Your content shift and extension change has rendered.” 

“Thanks, FRIDAY!” Hopping down, Morgan skips over to Pepper. “Can I borrow the Rescue helmet for school next week, please? I’m going to tell my friends about Daddy, and using Rescue to let them listen to his voice is going to be my show. You can’t have one by itself. You know?” Her hands steeple against each other pleadingly.

“Of course, baby.” Pepper presses her palms against her eyes, touches her fingers under them, in an effort to dry some of the moisture. Hugging Morgan fiercely, she adds, “Daddy would’ve really enjoyed that.” 

Wanda clears her throat. She’s torn between simply, and somewhat rudely, ending the call and having to reincorporate herself into a situation that has become personal, and emotional, enough that she feels impolite for witnessing it. (There’s also the fact that she, too, is just shy of sobbing.) “I’ll see the two of you at dinner tomorrow. Unless…” she hesitates, “Is there anything I can do?”

Pepper shakes her head, smiling sadly. Morgan, for her part, asks, “Do you think my presentation plan is neat?”

“It's the best.”

\---

On Monday morning, Morgan stands in front of her peers and pulls the Rescue helmet securely into place. This will provide the epic finale of an already stellar speech. 

From delving into Tony’s New York City roots to describing his blind love for the Mets and Mike Piazza, from detailing his storied careers as a tech genius and a superhero to emphasizing his generous philanthropic spirit, she’s covered all of the bases she’d laid out. With the exception of one.

“FRIDAY, run the audio re-titled Baby Stark, origin: Dynamic Duo server, please,” Morgan instructs. 

Wanda and Pepper may have been treated to this collection of soundbites previously, but they haven’t built up any kind of immunity to it. At all. Especially after an entire room of children cheers, “IRON MAN, IRON MAN, IRON MAN!” upon its conclusion.

Quieting her classmates and removing her headgear, Morgan closes with: “Tony Stark meant a lot to many, many people. He was Iron Man. To me, though, he was my dad before he was anybody else. Love you 3000, Daddy. Forever.”


End file.
